Departure
by ShindaSekai
Summary: Ghirahim was born beautiful and yet had never known anything beside ugliness. The world they had created was hideous, a kingdom of failure and dirt of which they were the kings and queens. - A story about Ghirahim's past.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a short story or rather a long one-shot that I'll split into few parts. I've been thinking about writing a story about Ghirahim's past to explain his relation to Demise and his motives for his actions, so here it is. **

I bought Skyward Sword not long ago and I have only started playing it, so the scenes related to the game might not be 100% accurate but I don't think it will derogate the main plot.

Most beings are born ugly. They grow up like caterpillars in a well sheltered cocoon. Few of those worm-like creatures actually leave their cocoons as a butterfly, their delicate beauty having grown over the years. Only death and age would bring an end to their beauty.

Ghirahim was different. He was born beautiful and yet had never known anything beside ugliness. The world they had created was hideous, a kingdom of failure and dirt of which they were the kings and queens. They were like bugs, a horde of indelible cockroaches that infested these lands like parasites. He, Ghirahim, Lord of the Demons, had to expurgate the ground he was standing on and eradicate them. Scrunch the cockroaches under his feet.

Once again, anger and a lust for destruction took over his senses as he was waiting in the Sealed Grounds. The pale skin of his arms was stained with the ink of hatred, darkening as the black poison seeped into his veins and spread through his body. This was the harbinger of death. The markings of decay.

Not yet, he thought as he inhaled the chilly air with a sharp breath. No, he wasn't ready to die yet. He still had to complete his last mission. Everything was ready. The stage was prepared, the protagonists approaching. A smile played across his sallow lips as he felt the girl's presence. So it would begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**The second (or real first) part! Hope you like the story~ (reviews are cookies :3)**

Death, blood and the distinctive smell of burning flesh was in the air, sickening him to the point he felt paralysed and unable to elude his own seemingly unavoidable dissolution. They had been hunted, banished from the towns and were forced to eke out a miserable existence in the dirty suburbs or in secret places all over the land. They were the scum of society, a thorn in the side of those who tried to hunt them down. Ghirahim was one of them, a demon who was chased for who he was and not for what he did. Deprived of food and comfort, the demons had come to live like rats who stole the leftovers of the rich. Their race, once proud and powerful had become the most pitiful kind on the whole surface.

An approaching deathly arrow snapped him out of his rigour and he eventually fled. The hunt had begun.

A group of men on horses chased the young demon through the woods, the sound of their hooves vibrating in his sensible ears. He was weak, enfeebled by hunger and cold, a prey that wouldn't endure long. Their screams of victory resounded in the frosty winter air but they didn't strike him down. Their game had only just begun and they wouldn't ruin the fun all too early.

Ghirahim's strength was fading quickly. He knew it was only a matter of time until he would collapse to the ground and be pierced with an arrow or a sword. He slowed down and came to a halt soon. If he had to die, he would die facing his enemy rather than lying on the ground with his face in the dirt waiting for the deathly blow. The horses stopped a few metres behind him. Even from that distance, he could feel the surprise on the men's faces and he turned around slowly. Maybe it could buy him enough time to leverage this moment of confusion and use what they were most afraid of. Something they had never possessed and would never understand. Magic.

One of the soldiers laughed as he looked down on the haggard demon who could barely stand but Ghirahim didn't miss the tiny amount of incertitude in his voice. A purple ray of energy shot from his hand and hit the first soldier on the chest but his strength had faded to the point that his magic could not seriously hurt them anymore. He lowered his hand in defeat. So this was the end.

What happened next was nothing but a blur to Ghirahim. The distant echo of whinnying horses, surprised screams and clashing swords rang in his ears as he tumbled and collapsed into the snow. His eyes burned so he had to keep them shut. The cold snow numbed the right side of his face while he fought to regain full consciousness.

And then it was over. The battle screams had died down and an unnatural silence suddenly settled. Someone walked up to him. With one last effort, he managed to lift his head a few inches. The snow was red, stained by the blood of those who had fallen during the battle and corpses covered the frozen forest soil.

A man clad in black was standing before him, a blood-stained blade in his gloved hands but he didn't point it at Ghirahim. Instead, he threw it into the snow and knelt down next to the demon. His voice was deep but gentle as he asked if the soldiers had hurt him and if he could stand. The demon's body twitched when a gloved hand touched his shoulder but he did not have the strength to push it away. Whatever would happen to him now, Ghirahim didn't care. His face sunk back down into the snow as the world around him turned black. Two strong arms carefully lifted the slender, now limp body and carried it to his waiting horse.

Ghirahim woke in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness. His body was aching even as he lied still and he couldn't suppress a soft moan. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead but the pain in his body was as real as the low voices echoing in the distance. A vague memory started appearing in the back of his head but it was blurred, soiled by the amount of blood and death.

He tried to move his stiff body and brought it in an upright position, his eyes now scanning his surroundings. It was a tent he was lying in, simple and plain with nothing more than a camp bed and a few boxes spread across the ground. There was something calm, yet utterly disturbing about this place and the situation he was in - everything smelled like human. A feeling of strong nausea built in the pit of his stomach as realisation struck him. He jumped out of his bed and stumbled out of the tent into the darkness of the night.

A few guards ran up to him as soon as they noticed the demon's attempt to escape. Blinded by fear and hate, Ghirahim tried to fight them off with all the strength he had left but they managed to catch him and twist his arms behind his back. Minutes later, he was on his knees again, swearing in a tongue no human could possibly understand. They pulled him back to his feet and dragged him along until they reached another tent, at least three or four times as big as the one he had woken up in.

It was a luxurious tent, decorated with red and black drapery, a wooden table and a large bed. Heavy blankets and carpets of fur were spread across the floor and the bed, making the room look extremely cosy and warm. Ghirahim recognised only few of the animals that had died at the hands of the owner of this tent such as Remlits and Wolfos, but there were other furs he had never seen before.

"Let him go and leave us alone," a voice behind him ordered and he felt the grip of the soldiers around his arms loosen. Although freed, he didn't move an inch and continued staring into the distance.

The man behind him closed the flap of his tent and blocked out the chilly night air. He walked over to his bed, took off his cape and put it aside, now facing the demon who was still perched on the floor. He was tall and muscular and although he was wearing nothing but simple black pants and a plain shirt, there was something distinctively majestic about this man. Long black hair framed his stern face with the piercing golden eyes and the angular jaw. Under his left eye, a long scar was engraved into the tanned skin of his cheek and disappeared somewhere under the short beard. He is handsome, just as much as a human can probably be, Ghirahim thought as he continued examining his opponent.

"I see you are awake now," the warrior said and sat down on the bed, "How are you feeling?" Ghirahim bit his cheek from the inside and pursed his lips. He wouldn't give this human the satisfaction to answer his questions.

To his surprise, he heard him chuckle softly. "I didn't bring you here because I want to kill you, if that's what you're thinking," he said and actually guessed right.

"I can see the grudge you bear for my kind in your eyes. The ones that hunted you down and forced you to live on the outskirts." He got up from the bed and slowly approached the demon. "My name is Vyarad. You probably wonder why I brought you here if not to end your life." He knelt down before his guest. "I am asking your help."

Ghirahim, who had lingered in silence so far, snorted contemptuously. "Why would a human like you ask the scum of society for help? And why would a demon like me come to your aid?"

Vyarad nodded. "I knew you would say that. And even though you might not believe me, I can assure you that I understand you perfectly well. However you may want to listen to my concern first." He got up again and offered Ghirahim to sit down on his bed but the demon refused to move at all, so he sat down alone.

"I am the leader of this group of men who are called _The Resistance_ by the citizens of these lands. We are rebels against this dastardly regime they have put upon us. You can call me dearly resentful but their policy demands the extinction of a race they do not understand and this is an act which I cannot accept. The easiest way to deal with one's fears is to erase the roots." He paused and looked Ghirahim directly in the eyes.

"They fear your magic, something that they do not possess."

Ghirahim shifted uncomfortably. Nothing he said was new to him, however, hearing it coming out of a human's mouth was surprising. "What is it that you want from me?"

Vyarad smiled. "I want to learn about your kind. I want to understand your magic."

"What for?"

"It might be a little too early to discuss these matters. I want you to recover first."

"You know I could kill you if I regained my strength?"

"You could but I know you won't."

Ghirahim huffed. "What makes you so sure?"

"I am not your enemy. And I might have something to offer you in return for your help."

"I might not want it."

"Take your time. I want you to take a rest until you have fully recovered from your wounds."

He stood up and took a few steps forward.

"You must be starving. I'd like to ask you to dine with me." He made an inviting gesture.

Ghirahim closed his eyes. He had been suffering from hunger for such a long time, that he was almost used to it.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't hungry," he admitted at last.

Vyarad's choice to welcome the demon in their tribe had not been received well by every man. Most of the members of the resistance treated him with indifference, some of them openly showed their mistrust but no one dared to pass criticism on their leader's decision. Ghirahim himself usually shunned them and lingered around his own tent, waiting for Vyarad to come back and talk to him. His attitude towards mankind hadn't changed but Vyarad was somehow different, as he seemed to hate the citizens of the surface as much as Ghirahim himself. The demon had been reserved and wary when the rebels had brought him here, but managed to open up a little more to their leader, the one, who had saved his life. It had pained him a lot to know that he owed him his life given the fact that he would rather have died than be indebted to a human.

Vyarad was a busy man. He usually would leave their camp in the late morning and only came back when the sun was about to set. Though he had been pretty indifferent to Vyarad's coming and going at the beginning, the demon soon realised that he was impatiently awaiting his return day by day. Vyarad often invited Ghirahim to dine with him in their tent and never addressed him in an unfriendly tone, even though he seemed to regularly treat his men coarsely. One thing that made Ghirahim become restless was the fact, that Vyarad still hadn't chosen to talk to him about the offer he had mentioned earlier.

It was a cold winter night when things were about to change. Ghirahim was already half-asleep in his tent when Ygdor, Vyarad's counsellor, put aside the flap and stepped inside.

"Vyarad wishes to see you in his tent," he answered the demon's unspoken question.

Ghirahim wondered why Vyarad wanted to see him at such a late hour, but he hurried to get to the warm and cosy tent.

Vyarad lifted his head when his guest had finally arrived.

"Ghirahim. Please come in." He smiled and invited him to sit at the table, which had been decorated with meat, vegetables, fruits and a bottle of red wine.

"I wish to discuss something with you. Please have a seat."

Ghirahim did as he was told. Vyarad poured some wine into a glass and handed him the precious red liquid, then took a sip from his own glass.

"You seem to have recovered fairly well," he commented, "I think it is time that we should consider my request. But please, eat first, I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."

Ghirahim enjoyed the food while he listened to Vyarad's demand. After all he had learned about the warrior, he thought nothing could really surprise him anymore but what he asked of him right now was beyond his imagination. He stared at him with disbelief but Vyarad chuckled.

"Don't give me that look, Ghirahim. I know it might ring hollow in your ears, however I would like you to respond sincerely."

"It is possible but why would you like to become a demon? I thought that you would know better than to ask for such a thing."

Vyarad emptied his glass and put it back onto the table.

"I want to cleanse this world from the fools that rule these lands. But what could a human like me possibly achieve? I need power, Ghirahim."

"Becoming a demon is not an easy decision. You will have to sacrifice your human soul."

"As I thought. I have made my choice long before we even met."

"This was your plan? So that's the reason why you prevented my death." Ghirahim didn't know why, but it felt like betrayal.

"Yes and no. It is true that I need your help, but tell me, Ghirahim, isn't this in your interest as well? With your power and knowledge, we could become the true rulers."

Vyarad's words made sense but something about his plan seemed wrong.

"Think about it, I will not push you."

The leader's request was still buzzing in his head when the demon turned to leave the tent. Before he could disappear in the cold, Vyarad's presence behind him and the touch of his hand against his hipbone held him back.

"It is cold outside."

Ghirahim stiffened a little but said nothing.

"I would like you to keep me company this night." Vyarad's deep voice was husky and his breath felt warm against his pointed ear.

Ghirahim followed him to the huge bed even though he was well aware of Vyarad's intentions. The thought of experiencing something that was distinctively human and completely unknown to him pleased and thrilled him at the same time. Vyarad gently touched his pale face as he lay down next to him on a pile of soft fur and shifted closer. The dimmed light in the tent tinted his eyes with a darkness as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the demon's lips.

Ghirahim didn't know why he welcomed Vyarad's advances so freely but the warmth those lips left behind left him craving for more. Vyarad's kisses and touches filled him with excitement, passion and a deep arousal and he gave himself to the handsome general.

**If you haven't noticed yet, Vyarad is Demise's past self at the time he was still human (and good-looking! harhar...) *laughs* More to be revealed soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The second part. Sorry for being slow with updating, university keeps me kinda busy. I got a review today which made me laugh and I can't help but give my opinion about said comment: I think it's quite funny when people tell me that I got a sick and twisted mind for making Ghirahim gay, because they believe he's not. *giggles* Well, to begin with, Ghirahim is, I am afraid, a fictional character which means he does not really exist. Second, this is fanfiction which implies made-up stories with made-up characters. And last but not least: saying that Ghirahim _obviously_ is not gay is quite amusing. I mean, come on, have you ever watched him act and move? giggles some more* To cut a long story short: everyone can have their own opinion about stuff like that and if you don't like it, don't read or simply ignore it. (Though I find it highly entertaining to receive comments like this.) XD**

The feeling Ghirahim woke up with was a feeling that had been completely unknown to him before, but the moment he opened his eyes, he cherished it deeply. Vyarad's body was buried under the pile of covers and furs, only his head sticking out from underneath. He was still sleeping but even in his state of slumber he provided Ghirahim with his comforting warmth. The demon sighed soundlessly. Warmth was a feeling he had not been able to receive for as long as he could remember and waking up next to someone was as alien as the whole situation he found himself in. He stared at the human, suddenly irritated by his own behaviour. Considering his position, sleeping with his enemy was not in any way favourable, or was it? Since when did he even stop thinking of Vyarad as his enemy?

He quietly pushed the bedsheets aside and got out of bed, his naked feet touching the cold ground. He gathered his clothes that had been carelessly tossed to the floor in the heat of the previous night and put them on. He left the tent when the first rays of sunlight appeared behind the silhouettes of the mountains in the far east. The temperatures were still extremely low but the coldness of the morning helped him to refresh his brain and numb the pain in his lower body. His own tent was still bathed in shadows and it looked anything but inviting so he chose not to go back yet. Instead he headed for the forest even though he wasn't sure what was leading him to this icy and dead place. A thick layer of ice covered the branches of the trees and even the snow under his feet was completely frozen, making the surface slippery. He stretched his arms and breathed in the cold morning air. His lips curved into a smile when a purple sphere formed in the palm of his hand but he held it there for a moment, watching it grow bigger, before he released the magical ball. The purple energy hit a tree nearby and left an impressing hole in its trunk. He hadn't practised using his demon magic for way too long and with his strength having fully returned, he finally was able to exercise himself in this matter again.

He seized the opportunity to train himself a little more while he was still alone with no one around him who would give him suspicious looks. He closed his eyes, tried to blank out everything around him and concentrated on the power that he held inside. He felt his magic stream through his veins, a gift he had been born with and that was as natural to him as the air he breathed and the blood that kept him alive. Before his inner eye, he created spheres and diamond shaped projectiles, deathly arrows made of pure energy and black swords but he was neither strong nor trained enough to make the weapons appear in reality. Instead, another small sphere was waiting in his fist to be released and he smashed it against another tree.

It never hit the tree. A metallic noise resounded in the air instead and Ghirahim snapped his eyes open. Vyarad laughed nervously as the ball of magic bounced off his sword and left a black hole in the frozen ground.

"Quite impressive," he remarked and put the blade back into its sheath.

"I didn't know you were here."

"Seems like I caught you off-guard." He winked. "I missed you this morning when I woke up. Why didn't you stay?" He seemed a little upset about Ghirahim leaving him so early after their first night together.

Ghirahim shrugged. "I couldn't sleep anymore and I didn't want to wake you up," he lied.

"You'll catch a cold if you stay here like this any longer. Let's go back inside."

"Demons do not suffer from human illnesses," he answered and sounded a little more offensive than he intended but Vyarad put a gloved hand on his cold shoulder and squeezed it gently. "And I can see the goosebumps on your skin and I do believe that you must feel the cold, even if you may not become sick."

He took a step forward and pulled the demon's stiff body against his own, his mouth close to the single rounded ear.

Ghirahim closed his eyes when he felt his body relax against the much broader chest. There it was again, the warmth he had felt last night, the strange feeling of security and something else, that he could not comprehend yet.

Vyarad's affection for the demon wasn't left unnoticed by the men of his tribe and every time Ghirahim walked by, they gave him knowing looks or whistled through their teeth. At first he had found it quite disturbing and had shot them killing glances, but soon learned to ignore them. Vyarad had asked him to stay in his own tent from now on and Ghirahim had accepted the offer willingly, even though he found it harder to get his peace and quiet from time to time.

It was a harsh winter with much snow and frosty temperatures which covered the tents with a thin layer of ice during the night. Ghirahim was thankful for the shelter Vyarad's tent offered and ever so often he sat on a pile of furs and blankets and thumbed through the books and documents that were lying around in boxes or simply watched the warrior tend to his weapons. When nightfall came, he usually curled up in bed and waited for Vyarad to join him or sat with him to dine before they both ended up under the cosy covers. Ghirahim learned much about sexual intercourse during all these nights he spent in the huge bed and he found it easy to respond to Vyarad's demands. He had never really given it many thoughts, it had seemed natural to him, even as he lied bare before him the first time. No, it wasn't the sex that worried him. It was the longing that he felt whenever Vyarad was not around, the warmth he craved and the smell he enjoyed when he rested his head on the other's chest.

Vyarad studied his peaceful face, propped up on his elbows, his fingers entangled in the soft white locks.

"I know, this might not be the best time to start this topic again but I can't get it off my mind," he said softly.

Ghirahim turned his head to the side and returned his look. "About becoming a demon?"

He nodded.

"Are you sure you want to sacrifice your soul? You even might be losing your human traits, both physical and emotional," he added. For some reason, he could not really warm up to the idea of Vyarad becoming a full demon. What was wrong with him lately? He should be happy about having a powerful fellow on his side, someone who would help him to cleanse this world from the race he hated so much. But he wasn't. He wanted him to stay human, to save this soul he had learned to rely on so much.

Vyarad chuckled. "You almost sound like you don't want me to join your side."

"By choosing to save me you already joined my side, didn't you?"

His golden eyes narrowed a little and his face became serious again. "What is wrong with you, little demon? I thought we had an agreement."

Ghirahim sat up in bed. He didn't like how this conversation was evolving. "I never said I wouldn't help you. I just wanted to make sure you would not regret your decision."

Vyarad's eyes softened and he pulled Ghirahim back down in bed and against his body.

"Lead me to this place you have mentioned. Let's have some rest now and set out tomorrow morning."

Ghirahim nodded but he felt defeated as he closed his eyes and inhaled Vyarad's scent. Would he still be smelling like the woods on an early autumn day once he gave up his human existence? Would he still be sharing his warmth once he had gotten a taste of the power he was seeking? As he drifted off into a light slumber, he hoped that morning would not come so soon.

But morning came and Vyarad was already out of bed and fully dressed while making preparations when Ghirahim woke up. A barrel with water had been placed in the middle of the tent and Vyarad's sword as well as a crossbow had been carefully placed on the table. The demon reluctantly pushed aside the blankets and left the heat of the bed, goosebumps instantly appearing on his skin as he stood naked in the chilly tent. Vyarad lifted his head when he noticed him and gave him a smile.

"Get yourself cleaned up as long as the water in the barrel is still warm," he suggested and pointed to the wooden basin in the middle of the tent.

Ghirahim could feel the excitement radiating from the general as he stepped into the lukewarm water and started cleaning the remains of last night from his body.

"I will get the horses ready. Join me outside when you're done."

The tall man left the tent.

The woods seemed even colder and more hostile as usual when they rode through and Ghirahim noticed how quiet it was. Not a single bird, not even an insect was to be heard or seen, as if to emphasise the purpose of their mission. He had decided to sit behind Vyarad instead of riding his own horse and guided him to the secret temple that his ancestors had constructed deep in the lost woods a long time ago. Only one of his kind was able to locate it, and Vyarad knew this. He had known it all along.

They arrived at the gate after a long and exhausting day and Ghirahim was more than happy to finally be able to get off the horse. His sore buttocks were killing him, and he decided that riding a horse after an exciting night was something he'd rather not experience again. The temple was old and time-withered, but still impressive. Ghirahim knew that it held more power than its appearance gave away. Vyarad whistled appreciatively at the sight of the colossal building that had been partly built into a rock and, what he could not see from the outside, partly continued underground.

"Who built this?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know," Ghirahim admitted, "all I know is that it had been here even before mankind populated these lands."

"Well then, I suppose we must go in?" He stepped forward on the moonlit path that led to the entry of the temple.

Ghirahim had never been inside and the colossal building, as well as the lack of knowledge about what was awaiting them behind these old walls, intimidated him a little. They approached the massive gates; doors of stone and old wood with fine lines and letters engraved in the hard material. Vyarad brushed the dust and dirt from the doors and tried to read the words but they were written in letters he could not read, in a language he did not understand.

"I guess this is your job," he said and took a step backward. Ghirahim nodded and touched the letters, reading out the words that were protecting the temple from intruders. A few moments later, the doors swung open and they stepped into the darkness.

"We should have brought torches," Vyarad whispered as they walked through the dark building. He didn't like the fact that he had to rely on Ghirahim's eyesight, because the demon had much better night vision and found his way even in the blackness while he stumbled and tripped or ran against walls.

"We are almost there. I can feel a powerful aura radiating from behind these doors." Ghirahim pointed at another gate a few metres away from them but Vyarad could not see it, no matter how hard he tried. He had to trust and believe his guide.

The room behind said doors was lit, much to the general's ease, even though he was surprised to find torches in a building that seemed long lost and abandoned. A long corridor led to a splendid altar, decorated with treasures of all sorts made of gold, diamonds and lapis lazuli.

"Don't touch anything," Ghirahim warned him, as he knew how easily humans could be seduced by material things.

They knelt down in front of the altar and he motioned Vyarad to stay quiet while he put his hand against the crystal embedded in the golden structure, which began to glow in a soft light as soon as Ghirahim spoke in the same unfamiliar tongue. Minutes later, the demon managed to contact his ancestors and voiced Vyarad's request.

He had to wait outside while Vyarad was making the pact and offering his human soul in return for his wish. It was torture to be locked out and not knowing what was going on. He pressed his ear against the door but all he could hear were unintelligible murmurs and heavy breathing. His anxiety for the human behind these doors made him walk up and down like a tiger in a cage and he counted the minutes which felt like hours. A sudden outcry made him jump an run to the door but it was locked. He shuddered as he imagined the scene before his inner eye; a doomed human being, curled up in pain as his soul was sucked out of his body, driving him insane. Would he be strong enough to overcome the mental torture that he had bestowed upon himself or would his mind be too weak for the change his body and soul were to receive?

The screaming inside suddenly ceased and was replaced by an unnatural silence that hovered in the air like a premonition of death. Ghirahim tried once more to access the room and this time the doors opened without any resistance.

Vyarad was lying on the ground, curled up like a child trying to protect itself from nightmares and Ghirahim ran all the way up to the immobile figure, knelt beside him an carefully touched his shoulder. Vyarad's eyes were still closed and he remained unconscious but his chest moved with every breath he took. At least he's alive, Ghirahim thought and gently touched his forehead. However, his relief soon gave way to a frown when he saw the black markings that decorated one side of his face, his throat and his arms.

The demon pact was fulfilled.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so sorry for being late with updates again. ;O; Lately I'm struggling with uni work and writer's blocks as I find it hard to concentrate on other things than my reports and essays so please bear with me ;O;**

**Thank you Mau and Rukawaa for the reviews, I'm trying my best to update as soon as I can and of course I will continue the story. It's all in my head already, it just needs to be written down...ha-ha-ha... *nervous laughter***

Ygdor flashed the young demon a severe glance before he left the tent. Vyarad still hadn't woken up and his breath was dangerously flat, his pulse slow and weak. Ghirahim knelt beside the bed and grabbed the cold hand. He didn't have the knowledge of what was happening to the general and it worried him that he remained unconscious and refused to wake up. If his mind wasn't strong enough, it was likely that he would never open his eyes again. The black marks were still there, carved into the pale skin and pulsating with a malicious force.

Ghirahim removed his clothes and let them fall to the ground, then crawled into the bed and lied down on top of his general, pressing their naked bodies together in an attempt to gain the last remains of his human warmth but it seemed futile. Vyarad's body was as cold and stiff as a corpse. The demonisation might not have been complete yet, but the human blood had nearly been replaced. It would only be a matter of days or hours until Vyarad was ready.

A strange darkness filled his dreams that night, a persisting black void that did not allow even the slightest ray of light. It was a weird sensation and a cold one, like a premonition of something evil and disturbing that was about to lure the world on to its own destruction. Even though he was not afraid, because he was a demon, a child of darkness and magic, he shivered.

When morning came and the first rays of sunlight caressed his cheeks and nudged him awake, he finally was able to step out of the darkness that had kept him captivated throughout the night. His body was cold though, and while he kept his eyes shut, he turned around to warm it against Vyarad's, but his hand found nothing but empty bedsheets. Frowning, he opened his eyes and realised that he was alone. He sat up in bed, now fully awake, but even after he scanned the whole tent with his eyes, he wasn't able to spot the general.

Vyarad was gone and no one had seen him leave. Ygdor had sent out a few riders to look for him but they returned a few hours later without a single trace. Ghirahim could feel the unease that was spreading among the men. He knew that it was fear, rather than worry, that pushed Ygdor to do everything in his powers to find Vyarad. They knew nothing about his kind, nothing about the changes their leader had undergone.

Vyarad returned at nightfall. Ghirahim had felt him coming even minutes before the hooves of his galloping horse resounded in the darkness of the night. He smelled the human blood staining his hands even before he saw him standing in the entrance of the tent. His face was still covered by the shadows but even from that distance, Ghirahim noticed the madness in his golden eyes. Like a hawk hunting for the first time, spreading its wings widely before digging its sharp claws into the warm flesh of a living being. Like a reborn animal, he was acting out of pure instinct to satisfy his thirst for bloodshed. Vyarad stepped further inside and gave him a smile, but it was misplaced and made his face look strangely grotesque, like a mask.

"Not even a greeting? Come one Ghirahim, I know you can do better!" He laughed but it sounded unnatural and patronising at the same time.

Ghirahim neither moved an inch nor opened his mouth, he simply kept sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to the crimson tainted hands that were fiddling about with the black cloak he was wearing.

"Have you lost your voice?" He kicked his boots into a corner and looked at the white-haired demon on his bed, who still didn't answer. He approached the bed, his brows furrowing ever so slightly with an irritated twitch. Ghirahim knew that his behaviour was enraging Vyarad but he remained silent and immobile like a puppet.

"Do you think this is funny?" Vyarad rushed forward, his knee propped up on the bed and closed his fingers around the slim, pale neck, gaining a helpless sound from Ghirahim. His face was so close that the latter could see the black blood vessels pervading his golden eyes like the fibres of a delicate spider web in the soft morning light.

"Have you lost your respect? Do you know what I do to those that disregard me?"

The strong fingers applied even more pressure and Ghirahim soon felt nauseous from the lack of oxygen and the smell of human blood. He struggled to free himself but Vyarad's muscular strength outranged his by far, and he pinned him to the bed with only one hand.

Ghirahim closed his eyes as he felt the magic rush through his black veins, swelling and pulsating violently against the hand around his neck. Vyarad now straddled his revolting body in order to keep him down and continued choking him, his mind clouded by the strong desire for blood and destruction. He bent down once more and his lips barely touched the single pointed ear.

"How beautiful you look when you are struggling for your life. Almost as pretty as a dying maiden."

Ghirahim's fighting body suddenly became limb under Vyarad's weight, but his eyes snapped open, black as night, and he jammed his hand into Vyarad's face. Vyarad let go of him with a surprised and painful outcry and stumbled backwards when the purple ball of energy hit him. A dead silence formed between the two while Ghirahim struggled to regain control over his body and Vyarad pressed his hand against his throbbing cheek and eye.

"You son of a bitch," he cursed, "you will pay for this!"

He picked himself up, still cursing, and stumbled out of the tent.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard Ygdor's voice as he welcomed his general to his own tent and Ghirahim knew, that Vyarad would spend his night in the arms of someone else.

The incident that happened that night seemed to have shattered the trust and bond both demons had shared before, even though they still occasionally spent their nights together. Yet at the same time, Ghirahim started to develop a strange fascination towards Vyarad's new existence. He knew that Vyarad needed to learn more about his newly gained magic and how to control it, but even at this early stage, he began to see how powerful the general really was, and how much vitality he possessed.

Weeks passed and winter turned to spring, and with every day, Vyarad grew stronger and his lust for power had reached new heights. Ghirahim still stayed with him even though he often was being treated like a dog rather than a friend or even lover. Whatever reason he had to play the submissive role, he seemed to have accepted Vyarad as his master. He liked to believe that he did it because it was his duty and for the sake of getting rid of all those humans that had caused years of misery and damage, but he couldn't be sure himself that this was the only reason.

They would hunt together, bringing down their preys just as it had been the other way round, months ago in the cold, dead woods and with every drop of blood that was spread, Vyarad felt that there could be more. He often left the camp in the early morning, only to come back in the middle of the night, worn out and sweaty. He never said a word but Ghirahim knew that he went to the temple. The swollen, black, pulsating veins on his throat and cheek were all too obvious; they were part of his demonic appearance.

"I have bad news," he said one night as he sat down on the bed.

Ghirahim lifted his head and looked at him questioningly.

"It seems that the Goddesses got wind of my plans. I heard them whisper when I was on my way back last night."

"I'm not really surprised to hear that," he answered while combing his hair with his fingers.

"They mustn't interfere with my plans. I haven't reached my goals yet."

"I don't think you are a match for the Goddesses."

"Don't play the smart ass, Ghirahim, I know that I'm still too weak to be a full demon."

"You are a full demon but only a demon king would stand a chance against the Goddesses."

"You are cleverer than you look, little demon," Vyarad grinned, "no offence."

Ghirahim cocked his head. "No offence taken."

Vyarad shifted on the bed and moved a little closer. "I've been to the temple last night and I have been offered a gift, an artefact that would give me great power."

He touched Ghirahim's cheek and gently caressed it with the back of his finger.

"You know what I am talking about, don't you?"

"The sword of demise."

"Indeed. I suggest you know the legend."

"It needs a soul in order to wake from its slumber."

"Not just an ordinary soul. A demon soul."

Ghirahim brushed the hand from his cheek and stared into Vyarad's golden eyes. He was neither stupid nor naïve and knew exactly what he was asking of him.

"I know it's a lot to ask. If I could sacrifice any soul, I would have done it already without blinking an eye, but you mean a lot to me, Ghirahim."

He pulled him onto his lap and captured his lips in a soft kiss, his hand rubbing Ghirahim's back gently. "I haven't always been fair with you, I know, but I'm sorry," he whispered, "I often miss the old times, even though you may find it hard to believe."

He placed a few more kisses along his jaw and continued down his neck. Ghirahim was well aware that he was trying to manipulate him but his body acted against his own will and surrendered to the pleasant touches and kisses.

The grass had begun to sprout from the once frozen earth, it hesitantly grew back into the world to greet the early spring sun. Birds were returning to the lands, insects were crawling anew between the blades of grass and spiders were busy building their webs between the branches of the trees, the fibres glistening with small drops of morning dew. The land was awakening from its sleep and regaining new strength, and the Goddesses smiled at the sight of such a vital scenery.

Ghirahim felt nothing of this joy. He barely noticed all these changes, for his thoughts were drifting off, his mind preoccupied with something completely else. His eyes were glued to the back of his future demon king riding before him, but they were shallow and hazy. They rode deeper into the woods, the place darkening again as the path lead them towards the forgotten temple. The dense row of pine trees aligned at each side of the road almost entirely blocked out the sunlight, changing the joyful spring scene into a place of gloominess and unease.

Vyarad's horse suddenly stopped and Ghirahim lifted his head. They had arrived. They both climbed off their horses and Vyarad turned around to give him an encouraging smile. "It's all set up. Come, let's create a new world."

Ghirahim followed him into the depths of the temple. The altar was lit by candles, the black sword resting on red cushions and a few demons were running around the place, making the last preparations for the ceremony. One of the figures, wearing a long, black robe with a cape, walked up to the white-haired demon and held out his hand. Ghirahim recognised him as one of the priests of the old religion. His voice was coarse as if he hadn't spoken a word for centuries, and it matched his wrinkled, old face.

"Take off your clothes and sit down on this cushion. The time is near."

Ghirahim felt a shudder running down his spine but he did as he was told. There was no turning back. He had nothing to lose anyway.

Vyarad took a seat in front of the altar while the priests gathered around them and started reciting the old verses. At first their voices were nothing but a barely audible murmuring but soon they filled the whole room with a hypnotising crescendo. Ghirahim closed his eyes as a sudden nausea and dizziness came over him and he dug his fingers into the soft textile of the cushion. He writhed in pain as he felt his soul being sucked out of his body while the magic he held inside was still fighting, rushing through his veins and pushing against his pale skin to break free and rescue what little could still be saved. But it was too late, for Ghirahim had chosen to willingly offer his spirit to the powerful sword and become its slave.

The dark blade glowed maliciously red in Vyarad's hand as it was taking the demon's soul inside bit by bit, waiting to fully come back to life.

And after centuries of oppression and misery, a new demon king was born.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello dear readers! Thanks so much to everyone who is reading this story and special thanks to my reviewers! It really means a lot to me to receive feedback and it motivates me to keep going even though I barely find the time to write.**

**Mau: Glad you liked it! Ghira has to suffer a little more~**

**Zelda geek: Thanks so much for the review! Your comment made me laugh, but yeah, you're right! =D**

Echoes of footsteps resounded in the Great Hall, lit by hundreds of golden candles, their soft glow turning the corridor into a holy place. And at the end of the room, a throne made of pearls and diamonds, a carpet woven from delicate fibres of clouds. Long blond hair wavering in the air as if it was softly blown by an everlasting breeze, the pale blue of a dress that was as sumptuous as life itself. The messenger stopped a few inches before the throne and bowed deeply, her head lowered as she tried to avoid gazing at the divine beauty in front of her.

"Your Highness, dark clouds are hovering over the temple and there is a red glow in the sky. Something terrible must be happening!" Her voice cracked as the words left her tongue.

"A new evil is stirring from the west. A demon king has been born in the forgotten temple of Kah'loo, I saw him."

She turned her head to look at the messenger with a smile but her words were nothing more than a mere whisper.

"Does he think he can change the course of human reign? Does he think he can be a match for me? Pathetic!"

She laughed out loud.

"Say... am I beautiful?" She got up from her throne and walked up to her messenger, her feet barely touching the ground as if she was floating, her movements graceful and smooth like water.

"Your Highness...," the girl stuttered but she knew that no words could describe her Goddess' beauty.

"Well? Look at me my child, or how are you supposed to answer my question if you turn your gaze away from me?"

The messenger lifted her head with a pounding heart and let her eyes wander over a face that was as perfect as if it had been carved into marble by the hands of the finest masters from the holy realm.

"Y..you are as dazzling as the rising sun, as elegant as the waters in the holy spring, as dignified as the fire, as beautiful as the green lands and as pure as air itself," she stumbled but even she felt, that all these words were not enough to describe the divine grace.

Hylia smiled and ruffled the girl's hair.

"Well then, I guess it's time to teach that pathetic little demon a lesson." She giggled.

"It's been some time since I saw a little bloodshed."

She walked over to an arch that opened to the sky and looked down at the lands she created before disappearing into the clouds.

Vyarad's hands were shaking as he held the powerful blade, pointed at Ghirahim, who had fallen to his knees, his painful body barely breathing. The ritual was not fully completed yet, the fusion not finished. With the last strength he possessed, the pale demon lifted his head to look at his master and at the tip of the blade that was directly pointed at him. He opened his mouth to say something but the words got stuck in his throat as he watched Vyarad's figure transform in front of his bloodshot eyes. The demon king raised his sword to Ghirahim's chest and forced his lips into a crooked smile as madness flashed in his eyes.

"You will be mine forever," he whispered before grabbing the handle of the sword tighter, and he violently thrust it into Ghirahim's body.

Ghirahim screamed as pain struck his chest like lightning, ripping him apart like a ragdoll, but Vyarad continued thrusting the blade into his body, deeper and deeper, until the handle was about to disappear in the open wound. The feeling of power was so overwhelming, oh such a sweet torture! The screams slowly ebbed away and Ghirahim collapsed to the cold ground. Vyarad stumbled backwards, suddenly aware of the changes that were happening to his body that same moment. He felt his bones break, then growing back together and stretching in his limbs, his human teeth falling out before they were replaced by sharp, pointed fangs. His whole body burned as his old skin peeled off and black scales covered his chest, arms and legs. The priests' voices died down as they observed the grotesque transformation, and they backed down.

Hylia smirked as she entered the temple in a ray of dazzling light.

"Oh my, how repulsing you are," she dryly commented upon seeing Vyarad and threw back her hair.

The demon king grunted as he lifted himself off the ground, still a little shaky from the ritual, but he gained only a bell-like laughter from the Goddess.

"You are no match for me, demon _king,_" she mocked him, "look at yourself. You were one of my children once, but you chose to become a hideous creature. How dare you turn your back on me!"

Vyarad coughed and spat out some blood before he turned to her. How small and delicate she looked as she stood before him. He grinned maliciously.

"I will crush you like an ant," he growled and reached for the handle of his sword which was still sticking out of Ghirahim's lifeless body.

She cocked her head to the side. "You may try."

He pulled the blood-covered sword out and pointed it at the fragile woman.

"Enough talking!"

He rushed forward but the blade missed its target and hit nothing but air.

"Such a powerful sword...what a pity that you haven't learned yet how to control it."

Vyarad turned around as he heard the voice behind him and wielded his sword but once again, the Goddess disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Their game continued a few more minutes until Hylia was tired of toying with the demon and she drew her own sword.

"For the past centuries, I have led a life most humans would die for, but even a being like me craves a little action from time to time."

A metallic noise resounded in the hall of the temple as the two blades clashed wich emitted sparks that rained down on them like a metallic shower. The sheer force of the weapons threw the demon king back, but even the Goddess couldn't withstand the pressure that built between the blades. Vyarad took the opportunity and charged at her. This time, the tip of his sword slit her cheek open and blood trickled from the wound onto her bottom lip. She grabbed her own sword tighter and licked her lips, her eyes sparking with an uncanny pleasure.

The next attack happened so fast, that Vyarad did not even have a chance to move, let alone to dodge the blow. He moaned as a dull pain numbed his left arm and for a moment, he completely lost sight of his adversary until the blade of the holy sword was only a few centimetres away from his face. The demon king growled angrily as it dug into his forehead but he managed to push the Goddess away, before she could cause more damage. Blood ran down his forehead and into his eye and he had to blink and wipe it away while his right arm wielded the weapon blindly.

The altar had turned into a battlefield and the priests had fled before long, knowing that the demon king's destiny was no longer a concern of theirs. Every blow of the holy sword pushed Vyarad back and weakened him and even though he managed to strike Hylia a few times, his hits were nothing but thin scratches. The fight had made him weary and even more vulnerable to her attacks and Hylia knew that she could end it in a matter of seconds, but she obviously had taken pleasure in the battle.

Vyarad fell to his knees as the blade struck his legs one last time and he panted heavily.

"Crush me like an ant?" Hylia giggled.

"I wish I could play a little more with you, but I have other duties as well. You see, my schedule is a little tight at the moment but it was a pleasure to meet you."

She bent down and looked into his fiery eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I could end your life right here and now, but since you were reborn only a few hours ago, I don't want you to deprive of the opportunity to savour your new existence - but not here. You shall receive what you desire - to be king of your own realm, your realm of doom."

She rammed her sword into the ground and created a magical barrier that surrounded the demon in a dazzling blue light, causing him to cover his eyes with the back of his hand and moan. He reached out for the sword, he previously had dropped, but to no avail. The Goddess' magic paralysed him and sparks of pain spread throughout his body. He felt his strength fade away as his body stretched and changed once again, his face swelling like a balloon and his eyesight vanishing as his eyeballs disappeared, and soon he was nothing more than a quivering mass of black scales and teeth.

Darkness enveloped him as he lost all sense of time and space and blacked out, his body disappearing together with the temple of the old religion.

The forest had fallen silent as the temple collapsed and was absorbed by the magical blue light, forever gone deep under the earth. But with a new dawn, life returned to the woods.

Ghirahim tentatively opened his eyes but shut them again, blinded by the strong sunlight. He tried to lift his arm but couldn't suppress a moan as consciousness crept back into his system. With the realisation that he was still alive came the pain, a soreness in his limbs and chest, that was overwhelming. He dug his fingers into the soft earth in need of something that he could hold on to, but the moist earth slipped through his fingers like sand. He rolled around until he no longer directly faced the sun and tried opening his eyes again. He didn't know what had happened after Vyarad had thrust the blade into his body but he no longer felt his presence. Was he dead? No, it couldn't be.

He gingerly touched his chest but the ugly wound was gone. The soft rushing of a stream nearby suddenly evoked the feeling of thirst in his terribly dry mouth and he rolled onto his stomach before lifting himself off the ground and shakily walking over to the stream. Perched on his knees and hands, he satisfied his thirst, then lied down again, closing his eyes. And as he was lying in the dirt, pictures suddenly formed before his inner eye.

At first, they were nothing but mere shadows shooing from one corner to the other but soon he could see them clearly. He saw himself crouched on the floor and felt Vyarad's firm grip on his body, then the scene shifted to the hallway where, surrounded by a dazzling light, a figure appeared. He met with a sharp blade, thinner and lighter as the sword of demise, and its touch made him vibrate with anticipation. Never had he met such sublime power! Again and again, they met and clashed and he tasted blood, the sweetest and most precious liquid he had ever savoured. Only one single drop left him craving for more and it was torture, to be so close, yet so far.

And after what seemed like eternity, his master dropped to his knees and he collided with the cold floor. A blue light surrounded him as the Goddess' magic sealed his master deep under the ground, but with the last remains of strength that he possessed, the demon threw him away from the holy magic and back where he should remain. Inside himself. Inside Ghirahim.

The pale demon opened his eyes again and began to understand. What he had seen where the memories of the sword, the last minutes before Hylia sealed its master away. His master. The fusion had not been interrupted, they were one. Ghirahim coughed as he forced his body into an upright position and slowly stood up again. This goddamn woman!

He would bring his master back and take vengeance. He would extinguish her children that she loved so much. One by one, they would fall into darkness until no one of them was left. He would find her, hunt her down and revive his master.

Deep inside, he heard his master call for him.

_**Author's note: **This chapter is a little shorter but it was necessary to put an end there, as the next chapter will continue after a time leap! I'm sorry if this chapter turned out a little violent. I never really intended to picture Hylia as a lunatic, but I guess spending centuries in her holy realm with nothing important to do isn't really healthy for your brain. *laughs* _


	6. Interlude

**Good afternoon! It's time for another update, even though this turned out really short, sorry about that. This is just an interlude. I'll try to update with the (probably) last chapter really soon, but since I'm going to Paris tomorrow for a whole week, I will be pretty busy. I included a little explanation of this part of the story at the end as I felt it might be necessary.**

**As usual: big thanks to my reviewers and readers.**

**Leila: Thank you~ =D Ghirahim is prince diamond! -laughs-**

**Anon: Thank you! Glad you liked the characterisation of Hylia.**

**Interlude**

Long, white fingers gently caressed the smooth but cool surface of the golden triangle, tracing along its shape with both admiration and resentfulness. Din, the powerful Goddess, who once created the lands with her fire. Farore, the Goddess of Courage, who created all life forms. And Nayru, the Wise, who poured her wisdom onto the earth. The legendary Golden Goddesses. She sighed as she plunged her hand into the void between the three golden triangles.

"Hylia, the Goddess of Light, and the protector of their children," she said out loud. A title she had given herself when people forgot that she even existed. It would be the Three for all time, and no one was to speak about the only one, who never left them. She pulled back her hand and clenched her fist, envious of her sisters.

"Hylia, the forgotten sister who has never been loved," she mumbled, her voice filled with bitterness.

She finally turned away from the Triforce and walked back along the long corridor. The numerous messengers and servants, who crossed her path, lowered their heads as soon as they were aware of her presence, and everyone shunned her gaze.

She slammed the door shut as soon as she arrived in her residence and took a deep breath. All these false-faced angels that she saw running around the palace day by day, how she hated them! How she wanted to pull out their shiny white wings, one feather after the other. How she longed to break their bones and rip them out of their backs, and hear their screams. If they denied her the love she craved, they didn't deserve hers.

And if the people of the surface forgot about her and only prayed to her sisters, why would she still be their protector? Demise would return to the surface some day and fight for his reasons and beliefs, and he would continue what he had already begun: the extinction of the human race. But this time, she would not interfere. The people had chosen their destiny by showing her their ignorance, and so it would happen. The course of life was about to change. For her, for the humans and the demons.

She smiled as she stepped in front of her mirror and stripped down her dress, revealing her marble-like body and skin.

"It is time," she whispered to her own reflection, "Hylia will be gone. From now on, I want to live and love as a human and no one will ever turn their eyes away from me."

She grinned as a tall figure emerged soundlessly from the shadows of her room, and turned around to face the Sheikah warrior.

The future was decided.

_**Author's note:** I decided to give another explanation, why Hylia wanted to be reborn as a human. In this story, she is the sister of the Three Goddesses, Din, Farore and Nayru and would be the bearer of another triangle, if there was one! She was left behind by her sisters in order to watch over the humans, but she is filled with bitterness, as she feels lonely and longs for one thing: love. Therefore, she opts for another life as a human and will be reborn as Zelda, leaving the destiny of the surface in the hands of the humans. However, she does create a place called Skyloft in the heavens where she will reside._


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: The last chapter. Finally! I can't believe that it took me so long to update, but to be honest, I had almost forgotten about this story and the missing part. -sweats- So...I'm very sorry about this! A big thanks goes to SailorSun546 for kicking my ass and motivating me to write the last chapter! Personally I enjoyed writing this story very much and I hope you felt the same about reading it. Thanks to everyone who read and/or reviewed!**

The ground beneath his feet shook slightly as Demise's massive, but blind head tried to make its way out of the sealed earth again. The seismic waves appeared within seconds but died down as quickly as they had built, and Ghirahim was able to steady his footing once more. His master, even though captured deep underneath the earth, felt that time was drawing nearer and urged to break free from the holy seal.

"Patience, big boy," he murmured, and smiled gently at the thought of having his master back. All these years, he had lived for this purpose, had gone to great lengths to find Hylia and crush her. Her destruction was so near, like a faint electric pulse under his fingertips that made his body vibrate with anticipation. His gloved hand touched the rough surface of the time-withered stone temple walls, and his finger traced along the tendril of ivy growing above the old bricks while he moved towards the entry. It was the sweet scent of youthful innocence that allured him, and he dug his way through the early evening mist like a moth attracted by the light.

Another seism shook the dry earth and threw Ghirahim off his unsteady feet. He growled, annoyed about Demise's impatience and persistence, and grabbed the ivy tendril to pull himself up again. Yet another, more powerful quake, forced him down on his four limbs, and kept him glued to the ground. A painful pressure was slowly building up, and wrapped around him, making his skull feel terribly tense. The black markings on his skin throbbed with an ache so intense that he wanted to scratch it open, the blood in his veins seemed to thicken and become diluted in a matter of seconds, and his organs contracted to a minimum size. After a mere minutes, the pressure was gone as quickly as it had built up, and the pain in Ghirahim's body disappeared. He inhaled sharply, sucked back life into his lungs, and remained on the ground, simply breathing in and out to calm his erratic heartbeat. Only when his pulse had returned to normal, he realised the dead silence that shrouded the sealed grounds. The trees stood still, not a single air draft, not a single sound. Even Demise remained motionless. Ghirahim's senses were on alert. Something was clearly wrong.

"Not now," he moaned, and then he saw the flash of light above the clouds and a shadow growing bigger with lightning speed. His eyes gaped in horror as the isle coming from the sky headed towards the ground he was standing on, and the seal that kept Demise caught underneath the soil. Once again, it was the magic flowing through his veins that saved him from being crushed under the huge formation, and he teleported to a safe spot, from which he could watch the fateful scenario. "No," he gasped out, "no."

The isle of the Goddess, formerly residing in Skyloft, had returned to its original place, the ruins now clinging perfectly to the holy temple. Ghirahim ducked down as he spotted a figure clad in green, standing on the platform before the huge statue of the Goddess that he hated so much. He clenched his fists at the sight of the Skyloftian knight, the boy who had been following him like a pesky dog and was foiling his plans. He had been a thorn in his side from the very beginning, and for the first time, Ghirahim regretted not having killed him when he had the chance. He gritted his teeth in hatred and annoyance as he watched the knight jump down from the platform and approach the entry of the sealed temple. He closed his eyes as he felt the presence of the girl again, this time more clearly. He knew she was inside this temple and if he followed the boy, the latter would surely lead him to her.

A golden gleam caught his attention and when he turned his head to face the statue, his eyes were greeted with the sight of three shimmering triangles. It was a beautiful yet appalling view for he knew that the Triforce was the sign of the Three, and seeing the single pieces put together definitely meant trouble. Furthermore he couldn't feel Demise's lifestream anymore. Could it be that the isle had crushed him under its weight? No, this was the work of the boy and the Three. And Hylia.

The demon lord quietly followed the Skyloftian into the temple, careful not to make a sound. The constant lack of Demise's presence during all these years had weakened him bit by bit, and being the incarnation of his master's sword had made him more and more vulnerable during the long absence. At first he hadn't noticed the changes, but after some time he had noticed how battles made him weary more quickly. Now the black markings on his skin were more prominent than ever, and even his teleporting skills had diminished to a minimum. Long distance teleportations were impossible, and even the shorter ones left him panting for air.

The boy led him directly to the secret chamber, and embedded in an amber crystal was the girl, sweet innocence radiating from her sleeping form. The knight gingerly approached the crystal, and when it burst into tiny pieces, he was there to catch the falling maiden in his arms, and to lead her out of the room safely. Ghirahim noticed the gentleness of their touches and their caring glances, and grimaced. Patience had never been a trait of his personality, even though he had needed to train himself over the past years, but now, in the face of the events to come, he had to hold himself back, watch and wait.

When they entered the back of the main temple hall, he recognised the red-haired brat and a crinkled old witch hidden under a red cloth that almost covered her whole, dwarfish body like a tent. The demon lord shuddered in the light of these obsolete figures.

He took it in, their smiles, loving gestures and happy faces. Soon he would be the one feasting on their preposterously pitiful figures, when he would reveal himself, and snatch away their beloved Goddess. Hope had gotten back to him at the sight of the ever-rotating gearwheels. With the time gate being open he would be able to travel back to the past and resurrect his master, thus destroying Hylia, and putting an end to this nonsense once for all. Gathering his last strength, he prepared for his own magical entrance in this play of love and tenderness, and when the oversized red-haired kid burst into tears, he could no longer hold back, and ripped their intimacy apart.

"How terribly heart-warming! I wish I could join in but I am afraid that I have to interrupt your sweet lovey-dovey," he mocked, and picked the half unconscious girl off the floor. "The best thing is to simply forget about your beloved Goddess, since she will keep me company once I have travelled through this gate, and with her help I will finally revive my master."

The boy in green growled angrily and unsheathed his sword but Ghirahim only gave him a scornful glance.

"You. You have been a bother from the very start, and even though I have to admit, that it was fun toying with you, I can't waste my energy on you now. See, I don't even have the time to grind my heel into a worm like you. Not here and not now."

He teleported to the small pedestal in front of the gate and headed for the passage, but the other Skyloftian blocked his way by spreading out his arms.

The demon lord sighed loudly. "Oh come on, this is pathetic. You don't stand a chance, so get out of my way before I have to knock you down."

The redhead didn't move an inch, his eyes glued to the tall demon and the girl's seemingly lifeless body.

"I won't let you pass."

Ghirahim's impatience now had reached its peak. He lounged out and with a simple kick of his foot he sent the redhead and the old witch to the other side of the room, gaining a painful yelp from both.

"Enough!"

He turned around one last time before he stepped into the time passage, and fixed his gaze on the young knight at the end of the staircase.

"I will wait for you, Link."

As soon as he entered the passage, time spun around him like a roundabout full of memories and feelings. He could see himself being chased in the woods by men, lying beside Vyarad's human self, fulfilling the ceremony at the secret temple, chasing after the Goddess' human form, sweating and bleeding for the only purpose he was still living for: his master's resurrection. Once he reached the end of the passage, the memories of old times blurred and perished, leaving him with an empty feeling in his chest, but as he stepped outside into the early evening mist, he felt Demise's presence restoring his powers. He had no time to lose for he knew that the boy was dogging his footsteps. He dragged the girl's body along, and jumped down into the abyss, while creating a magical barrier to keep his pursuer off as long as he needed to fulfil the revival ceremony.

Using magical spells to separate Hylia's soul from the human body cost the demon lord the last bit of his energy he needed to sustain his humanoid form, and now that the ceremony was almost complete, he felt the black poison stain his body and consuming him. His forearms, as well as the left side of his face, were now black as charcoal and throbbing violently. He fell to his knees as he felt the bond of the sword tug at his sore body, and slowly change him into a creature that neither felt pain nor mercy; a form that Vyarad had inflicted on him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Skyloftian fight his way through the hordes of Bokoblins, and approaching with an almost terrifying speed. With shaky legs, he drew himself up to his full height and completed the last parts of the spell. Underneath his feet, he knew that Demise was regaining his old strength to finally break free from his sealed prison, but in order to regain his freedom, Ghirahim had to buy him more time. His last battle with the young knight was about to begin, and this time, he would not spare his life. The games were over.

When Ghirahim first met the boy, he had been both annoyed and amused about his persistence and clumsiness. There had never been anything graceful about the way he moved, no, he had rather seemed like a puppy who would trip over its own paws. The teenager had never been a real match for the demon lord, and no matter how many times the boy would follow and try to stop him, he, Ghirahim, had always been outright superior. The powerful sword had been nothing but a harmless toy in the boy's hands, and the only damage it could cause were a few tiny scratches on his skin. Ghirahim had enjoyed playing with him, and making him believe that he could achieve something big, while in reality, he always left him one step behind.

Seeing the knight now, his strong stance, the determined look on his face, the hard flash in his eyes, Ghirahim realised that he had changed. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"So we meet again. I should have crushed you when I had the time, instead of showing you mercy. Did you really think you could beat _me_? You stand before a _demon_, or should I say a _demon lord_?"

He slowly walked around him, but never let him out of sight.

"Instead of taking the chance to run away like any creature with a basic instinct to survive, you kept coming back, crossing my plans, again and again. I have grown tired of you prying into my affairs, so I recommended you to stay away from my business, but here you are, pointing this weapon at me."

He returned to his starting point again, and gave the boy a challenging look.

"Give her back to me," the knight growled, but Ghirahim only laughed out loud.

"Give me one reason why I should? Tsk, tsk, I will never understand your motivation, little one. Why are you making such a fuss over a petty little thing?"

He stopped for a moment, and grinned mockingly.

"Don't tell me you are in love with the girl?"

"Do you want to talk or to fight?"

The knight was slowly losing his patience, but Ghirahim's monologue had bought Demise enough time to absorb most of the Goddess' soul. The demon lord nodded approvingly.

"Time for you to die," he whispered, and waited for the knight's attack.

Link's blows were powerful and determined, and whereas his eyes had been filled with a certain fear and caution in the previous fights, there was nothing but pure willpower and hate in his blue orbs now. The holy sword clashed against Ghirahim's body as the boy hit him again and again, almost frantically, but his skin was now as resistible as the hard and shiny surface of a diamond. But however useless these attacks were, they didn't allow the demon to strike back, and as he tried to touch the tip of the sword as he had done in their first battle, he instinctively pulled back his hand, his fingertips still vibrating under the enormous energy that it emitted. One little moment of distraction, one second of confusion, and the sword hit him hard on the only vulnerable spot on his body. He stumbled backwards, and before he could regain his balance, the boy sent him off the edge of the platform. The demon lord landed hard on his back, with the knight jumping after him, his sword aiming at his chest again. Ghirahim rolled to the side before the blade could cause more damage, and took advantage of this moment of surprise. He kicked Link hard in his spine, who fell down to his knees with a painful outcry. A feeling of satisfaction filled Ghirahim's chest as he heard the noise of a breaking vortex in his opponent's spine, and it sounded like music in his ears. His thirst for bloodshed and revenge, and the pure feeling of hatred made him forget about his dignity during battle once and for all, and he lunged at the boy like an animal, plunging his teeth into the soft flesh of his shoulder. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he ripped out a piece of skin and flesh, but got thrown back when Link helplessly wielded his sword, and drove it between them. He panted heavily, blood dripping from his wounded shoulder, but the fierce look in his eyes never vanished.

Ghirahim was impressed. Even after all the failures and misfortune that he had experienced, the boy never seemed to give up hope and his beliefs, he would fight to the very end to protect those that he loved and cherished, even if it meant his own death. Was this the reason why the Goddesses had chosen and blessed him with their power? And was this the reason why he had spared his life so many times before? And in the end, could it be that they were not even that different? How much pain had he endured himself, and how many efforts had he put into one single purpose? He closed his eyes for a second, before getting rid of these thoughts that were perturbing his mind. This wasn't the time to become sentimental.

Link had regained his footing and was now charging at the demon again. Between endless strikes and outcries of pain, determination and rage, he worked himself into a state of franticness, but a sudden quake threw him off his feet again. The seal broke as Demise's gigantic head burst through the dry earth, and his massive scaled body emerged from the ground. With one last effort, he was finally free, and absorbed the rest of Hylia's soul, thus changing into his true, demonic form.

A sound escaped Link's lips as he sat in the dirt and stared horrified at the huge demon king. Ghirahim's lips curved into a smile as he saw his master rise from his cage after years of being imprisoned, and he bowed politely before him.

"Welcome back, master."

Demise's fiery eyes glowed eerily in the twilight as he cocked his head to the side, and took in the sight of the small knight.

His pointed fangs flashed in the gloominess.

"So you are the mighty hero? The one chosen by the Goddess. Interesting. I never thought she would send a midget to save her beloved children."

He turned his head and his gaze now rested on the girl, who was still unconscious.

"What a shame. Compared to her previous magnificent form, this girl is nothing more than a poor imitation of her own creations. I find it very intriguing that she lowered herself to such a plain appearance."

Unlike Ghirahim, he did neither laugh, nor show any other signs of scornfulness upon seeing the boy draw his sword and point it at him. Instead, he accepted the invitation to battle with a nod, and lifted his right hand into Ghirahim's direction.

An invisible force struck the demon lord, and smashed him against a rock, before he was lifted in the air like a puppet. He moaned soundlessly and looked into Demise's eyes, searching for something that would answer his unspoken question, something he could hold on to, but they were blank and unreadable like a polished ruby. The demon king was asking to get back what was his, and he would take it by force.

With a satisfied look on his face, he slowly pulled the powerful sword out of its vessel, and with one single move of his hand, he twisted it around. Ghirahim cried out in pain as the sword slit his inside and cut through the crystal on his chest, the handle slowly emerging from his body. His screams then slowly ebbed away, and gave way to mad laughter. So this was it. All these years, he had sweated and bled for this moment of resurrection, and now he felt the strings of death being pulled. All his endeavours seemed pathetically futile in the face of his own decease. And all this talk of cleansing the world from humans now rang hollow in his ears. What did it matter to him once he was dead? The revenge he had been seeking had never been about the people of his kind, all that he demanded was justice for himself.

The sword had left his body by now and returned to Demise's hand. In a state of near oblivion, Ghirahim's broken body sank back to the ground where it remained while the demon king competed against the young knight. His surroundings had become a blur, and the sound of the two powerful blades clashing seemed a thousand miles away. A black veil slowly enshrouded his vision, and no matter how hard he tried to regain control over his senses, a dangerous weariness was dragging him down into a dark pit. And in his semi-consciousness, he suddenly heard familiar voices, and saw the shadows of his past approaching the shards of his former self. Watched them point their fingers at the demon lord who, once glorious and proud, was now decrepitly lying in the ashes of his own ruin. How pathetic. How pitiful.

Flashes of pain flared in his chest whenever the Goddess' sword collided with the blade that was connected to both his body and soul, and even though he wondered how long his body could still endure the torment, he somehow started to feel comfortably numb after a while. He shut his eyes and kept them closed, thus drifting off into a state between sleep and death.

When he opened his eyes again, he had lost any sense of time or direction, and all he could see was an endless desert of plain, monotone white, making him believe that he was already dead. He tried to move his limbs, but to no avail. They seemed to be glued to the ground. He closed his eyes again, now that he was certain of his departure from this world, but forced them open again when something bumped against his foot. The white gradually disappeared and blurred silhouettes started taking shapes. His vision eventually returned, and he stared straight into two pairs of marine blue eyes that were observing him curiously.

"He is still alive." The voice of a young man. It sounded fairly unhappy.

"No, Link, take your sword down." The female voice sounded much gentler.

"After everything he did you still want to keep him alive?"

"His time has come, can't you see that he is dying? Look at all his wounds."

"But..."

The protest was cut off abruptly and Ghirahim closed his eyes again. His chuckle disrupted the conversation, and turned into a low laughter. Demise was dead. As a matter of fact, that brat had managed to defeat the demon king. How laughable. This was perfect irony. They had won _nothing_! All these years of pain for _nothing at all_.

He ponderously got back on his feet, blood dripping from his wounded torso, and he realised that he had changed into his real form. The knight and the girl were still watching him closely, but no one dared to move at all.

"You surprise me, boy. I never though that a rat like you could destroy a demon _king_."

He tried to laugh but only managed a dry cough and a spit of blood.

"Where is he?"

He reached the spot where Demise had fallen only after a few minutes, even though he hardly had to walk a few metres. The sword was shattered into little pieces and scattered across the ground. He sank to his knees beside the human corpse and touched Vyarad's cold body.

"So this is how it ends, Vyarad," he whispered and gently brushed away a strand of raven hair from his face.

"Did you ever know how much I hated you? Did you ever guess how much I despised you?"

His fingertips touched the soft flesh of those lips that had kissed him so many times before, and he lowered his face to whisper a few words in a long forgotten tongue.

And when the first rays of sunlight caressed the lands, the demon lord recollected the last shards of his dignity, turned his back on his king, and departed into the depths of the forest towards the rising sun.


End file.
